He eyed me seriously. “We all have to do our part to help avoid nocturnal emissions. The planet needs us.”
I stared at him. “The planet needs us to avoid nocturnal emissions?”
He nodded. “Nocturnal emissions are the number one cause for the hole in the ozone.”
“You’re… you….” I sputtered. “You can’t… adorable fucking… it’s cheating, is what it is… bastard… ass… so much ass….”
He grinned and pressed a foot up near the seat of his bike, stretching out his leg so it was horizontal and then doing an obscene stretch that outlined his crotch so perfectly I wanted to run away screaming with my arms waving over my head.
“Work,” I said weakly.
“Work?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow as he pressed down on his thigh. His mad-crazy, hot thigh.
“I have to work.” Well, I had to work on breathing, because he switched to bring up his other leg, doing another stretch, bending down until his stomach was flat against his thigh, like he was folded in half.
“I’m pretty bendy,” he said casually, his gaze never leaving mine, and what was I supposed to do with that?
I tried to remember the pep talk I’d given myself the night before. I tried to remember being Miss Independent while driving into work, sharing that moment of camaraderie with the woman in the car next to me because we didn’t need no fuckin’ man. But that seemed like a lifetime ago, because I was pretty sure I was getting an erection while standing outside my work, watching a man who was turning me inside out doing the most erotic version of Pilates I had ever seen (and that’s saying a lot, because I once saw a porno disguised as a nude Pilates video. I tried to follow along on my own floor, but it’s hard to do when you’ve got a boner).
“Bendy, huh?” I mumbled. “That’s… swell.”
“I like this office,” he said, putting his foot back down on the ground before bringing one arm across his chest and grabbing his shoulder with his other hand, continuing to stretch. “You want to know why I like this office?”
“So… sweaty,” I breathed, watching a little trail of sweat roll down his cheek.
“I like it,” he said, switching to stretch his other shoulder, “because they’ve got a small gym here, downstairs. Didn’t have one of those at the office in Phoenix. Do you know what’s in the gym, Paul?”
“Free weights and an underserved sense of accomplishment?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly and walked around his bike until he was standing two feet in front of me. I tried to cover up my traitorous dick with my coffee cup, but I don’t think it worked too well. It wasn’t that big of a coffee cup, even if I didn’t have a huge dong. “Showers that no one uses,” he said in a low voice. “Ever.” He took another step toward me, until I could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. Hot, sweaty manly man waves.
“Oh?” I managed to say, trying to force myself to take a step back, but unable to do so.
Biker Vince nodded, eyes glinting. “Except….” He bit his bottom lip, then let it go. “Except for me. I use them.” He took another step, until his chest brushed against mine. He leaned in and I could feel his breath on my face and my lips parted and—
“Kelly Clarkson,” I said.
He stopped, mere inches from my face. “What?” he asked, that adorable look of confusion on his face yet again.
“Don’t need no man,” I whispered. “She told me to be independent.”
Must… resist… bike shorts….
“Who’s Kelly Clarkson?” he asked, leaning back a little and frowning. “Is she a friend of yours? If you want, I can talk to her for you. Put her at ease.”
“Nocturnal emissions are wet dreams!” I shouted at him and then ran around him and back up the stairs. I tripped, but that’s cool. I meant to do it because it added more drama to my exit.
I didn’t look back.
I TRIED to hide from him for the rest of the day. Supply closets are great places to try this out. I got bored after two minutes and started taking an unofficial inventory. We had 262 highlighters. That’s a lot of highlighters. We were running out of envelopes. Someone really should have gotten on that.
Tad came in to the supply closet at some point midmorning, claiming he needed paper clips. I glared at him the whole time, wishing silently that he’d get herpes on his face, right on his perfectly plump lips. I wondered briefly if that was very wrong of me to think, but then he gave me this knowing little smirk and said, “Oh, heyyyyy, Vince,” really loudly when he left the closet, so I didn’t feel so bad about it. As a matter of fact, I also included in my wishes for him to have a burning sensation when he peed. And to get eaten by a shark while being set on fire on the surface of the sun.